Unfortunately, FFN's character tagging isn't as robust as I'd like, which is why I had to pick some odd choices when it comes to ASOIAF's side of it. There isn't even a Desmera Redwyne tag, so...

This also affects pairing tagging. Just as a heads up, this fic will feature F/F and F/M pairings. They will become obvious as we progress the story.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the new chapter.

II

The first time she met him, she'd all but forgotten about the rumours.

The sounds of a bustling town surrounded them. Hawkers peddled loudly their wares on the streets and the laughter of children rose above the hubbub of neighbours talking to each other, rushing by streets of old mortar and stone.

The old town was very distinct from the buildings that Lord Paxter Redwyne had ordered built around it to expand Vinetown. Newer, pale white mortar ant stone arose from the ground to create new houses for the smallfolk. Built on the hill banks, they gave the impression of a massive ladder, ascending ever upwards to the heavens where the Seven dwelled.

Open to the sea through a bay, Vinetown had grown tremendously under the watchful care of Paxter and Mina Redwyne, but it had never forgotten its fisher roots despite the prominence of the winemaking industry. There was that certain 'something' to the town that couldn't be quite described; while Oldtown was a prosperous and populous city, Vinetown felt like a place eternally stuck halfway in the transformation from provincial town to large city.

It was a misleading reality. Few people from the other kingdoms truly understood the actual reach of the Redwyne's wealth and power. Most saw their unfavourable geographical position, the merchant fleet, and the ubiquitous wines they produced, and assumed they were nothing more than a merchant noble House.

'And that suits us just fine,' Desmera mused thoughtfully. Even if their fleet was one of the most powerful in Westeros, she knew enough to understand there were more types of power than just martial might.

"And you say this rock was blessed by Gilbert of the Vines, Desmera?"

Desmera blinked, pulled out of her musings by her cousin. Margaery was examining with Loras the black rock threaded with veins of red placed at the very centre of First Square. As the name implied, it had been the very centre of old Vinetown.

Desmera nodded. "The story goes that this is where Gilbert first landed his ship coming from the Reach. When he made landfall, he poured wine over the rock in front of us to give thanks to the winds, the seas, and the Old Gods for safe passage. It is said that the wine watered the rock just as water nourishes the vine; where the liquid fell around the rock on the ground, it grew vines with grapes of the highest quality," she explained to her cousin.

"Desmera speaks true, Lady Margaery. Even now, you can see where the liquid burrowed into the rock – blood veins, the people call them," added Ceryse, who had heard the story a thousand times by now.

Margaery nodded, showing keen interest in the explanation. "I can see that, Lady Ceryse. Truly a curious sight."

However, Loras' snort showed exactly what he thought of the legendary tale. "Nothing more than fantastical tales from superstitious folk. You shouldn't believe in such things, cousin. It's more likely Gilbert of the Vines claimed to have planted vines that were already there."

"And how would you explain the people saying that they grew overnight? The people who lived here at the time would've noticed if the plants were already there."

Margaery's brother just shrugged. "How would I know? Those people lived a long time ago. He probably just proclaimed it loudly as often as he could until people believed it and the truth was forgotten."

'At least, House Redwyne can claim to have an ancestor from the Age of Heroes. What do the Tyrells have? Naught but stewards in their blood,' Desmera considered with some heat, but she kept well away from voicing such churlish thoughts.

"If you say so," she coolly said. Her cousin Loras was a hotheaded fool, but she loved Margaery; if spending time with her meant suffering his presence, then so be it.

Next to her, Ceryse shot her a nervous look, which gave Desmera another reason to stay herself from putting Loras in his place. Her friend hated it when people fought.

"The Redwynes and the Rhyslings have a long and storied lineage, Loras. Dismissing such tales as mere superstition is unkind of you," Margaery chided him and gave Desmera an apologetic look, fleeting as it was. Her words had been soft, but there was no denying the steely edge in them.

Though he huffed under his breath, Loras nonetheless relented. "You're right. I spoke harshly and without cause. My apologies, cousin, Lady Rhysling, I am sorry."

'No, you're not.' But Desmera could recognize a banner of peace when she saw one, so she took the olive branch for what it was.

"Water under the bridge, cousin," she said, earning a bright giggle from Margaery.

"Heavens, let us hope not. Otherwise the Freys would never cease demanding a toll from us!"

Thankfully, the laugh Loras and Desmera shared over that harmless jape did much to soothe ruffled feathers. When the four set off ambling through one of the cobblestones roads up to the town, the small tense moment was all but forgotten.

"I'm glad we were able to come down to the Arbor and visit, Desmera. It's been too long since we last saw each other," Margaery said with a smile, arms linked together as the latter led them slowly through Vinetown's streets. Both Loras and Ceryse walked arm in arm a few paces in front of them as well, making light talk.

"Yes, I'm thankful that your father let you come. It must have been a dreadfully long journey from Highgarden though!"

"Oh, it wasn't that bad. We were blessed with fair winds sailing down the Mander, and then we had a pleasant and swift voyage to the Arbor thanks to our escort. Father was of the mind that we should spend some time with our close kin, especially since our distant cousin Alla is betrothed to your brother Horas. Grandmother was of one mind with him on this."

Unsaid went the fact that the Queen of Thorns would've gotten her way even if the Warden of the South thought otherwise. Long and far did the thorn's grasp reach. The Redwynes, more than anyone else in the realm, knew such truth well; after all, Olenna Tyrell had been Olenna Redwyne once upon a time.

Alla and Horas were somewhere else in the countryside, getting to know each other still under the watchful eye of their chaperones. Desmera dearly hoped Horas wouldn't make an ass of himself; Alla was a kind soul.

"That's good to hear," she only said instead. "It's a shame grandmother couldn't come. Mother always enjoyed spending time with her and I know she misses her dearly."

"We asked if she would like to come, but she complained that old people like her have no business cavorting through the Seven Kingdoms like lively youngsters anymore. I told her hips were still plenty strong to resist such a journey and she nearly swatted me with her cane," Margaery said with a snicker.

Desmera snorted. "Sounds like grandmother alright."

"Indeed," her cousin said, but then her voice dropped in volume until it was little more than a whisper. "Though, in truth, she wanted to keep an eye on things in King's Landing."

The small smile still affixed on her cousin's face belied the seriousness of her words. Anyone who watched them would only see two cousins reconnecting after years apart, escorted only by family and close friends. Her words were vague to avoid any incriminating implications, yet Desmera could read between the lines.

"I see. It always pays to be mindful of such things."

"Quite so."

Although they were dancing around the issue, Desmera knew all too well what Margaery's words meant. It wasn't a secret amongst the Redwynes that her grandmother was ambitious, scheming to ensure the Tyrells rose as high as possible. Her own mother had always made her aware of that fact, for the Redwynes would indirectly benefit from the Tyrells rising in the world.

They were kin, after all.

Desmera had no doubt grandmother would keep a close eye on King's Landing. The death of Lord Arryn had been a catalyst. King Robert had looked North for a replacement, but anyone with common sense could tell opportunities came with a changing of the guard, moreso when it involved a high profile position such as Hand of the King. Opportunities and risks. It was all in pursuit of the ultimate prize, a seat of iron and steel. A throne forged from the swords of broken enemies.

'For the throne that controls all of Westeros, not many dare to call it for what is it – a bloody ugly and unsightly chair.'

Desmera had only seen it once in her entire life, but it had been enough for her to wonder who in their right mind would ever wish to sit in such an overcompensating monstrosity. Perhaps it was a mirror of the Conqueror's personality. A harsh throne for a harsh man.

"Desmera? You're off into your own mind."

Sje blinked, turning to her cousin. "Oh, my apologies Margaery!"

Desmera and Ceryse took the Tyrells to the right road, which trailed upwards around the hill. Rows of houses lined both sides of it, with some being connected and creating overhead arches that loomed over anyone that passed under them. A breeze blew through the street and a content Desmera took a deep breath; it carried the faint, but comforting smell of saltwater.

Clearly entranced by the sights surrounding them, Margaery had a smile on her face. "Vinetown is so beautiful. Highgarden might be impossible to beat, but this feels… cozy. I feel as though I could spend years here in complete peace!"

"You flatter us, cousin."

"I speak truly, Desmera. Were it not for my mother telling us we once visited it many years ago, I'd have sworn I had never been here. I certainly don't remember it!"

They reached a small circular square where several merchants sold their wares. Margaery bid them to approach so she could look through the goods for sale. Desmera noticed Jeod had set up his small stall that day, and his was the first one they visited.

Seeing them approach, the man straightened up. "Fair winds to ye, Lady Desmera, Lady Ceryse! Yer beauty grows every time ye come!" he greeted, offering them a crooked smile. Jeod was an old man, with a wrinkled and weathered face, but his back was strong and, more importantly for his craft, his hands were still steady.

"Thank you, Jeod, and fair winds to you as well," Desmera replied as Ceryse giggled. "Cousins, this is Vinetown's jeweller, Jeod. He's worked his craft for as long as we can remember, even my mother commissions orders from him sometimes. Jeod, these are my cousins, Ser Loras and Lady Margaery, the children of Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South."

Jeod bowed low as was customary. "High praise, Lady Desmera! G'day, m'lord, m'lady – anything that migh' be of interes', jus' tell me."

"Tell me, good man – did you make all this jewelry by yourself?" Margaery asked, pointing at all the goods spread out on his stall. There were quite a lot of them, ranging from necklaces to bracelets, but there were also earrings, rings, and lockets amongst others.

Jeod nodded eagerly, wasting no time in launching into a detailed explanation of how he forged some of the wares he sold, but to her credit, Margaery looked interested and even asked a question or two. Desmera didn't miss how her cousin's eyes drifted more than once to a pair of hairpins fashioned into multicoloured roses.

Jeod, canny old fox that he was, had to have noticed as well, because he subtly and seamlessly segued into an explanation of that particular piece. He described how each rose petal was made from a different gem: an emerald, a ruby, a sapphire, an amethyst… the central piece was a peridot, a happy coincidence that the old man made sure to disguise as a premeditated thought meant to honour House Tyrell. Desmera was sure Margaery saw through it, but she still played along.

"It certainly is beautiful! And how much would you ask for it, Jeod?"

"Sixty dragons, milady. Gems weren' cheap and I've gotto make a profi', ye see."

"Sixty dragons! That's not a hard bargain, it's pure highway robbery!" Loras exclaimed. Ceryse took a small step back but Jeod didn't seem too perturbed.

"But if it's for ye, m'lady, I could go as low as forty and no more. My youngun's mus' eat," he said, smoothly bringing down the price as if he wasn't being glared at by someone who could have him flogged or killed with just a few words.

'He's always been a bold one,' Desmera thought.

Even then, Margaery hesitated. "Forty dragons is still plenty of money, and I hesitate to spend so much at once on something that is little more than my vanity when it could be better spent elsewhere – but it truly is a marvellous piece…"

Although she looked torn, Desmera really thought she was about to turn away, but then Loras stepped forward. A determined glint shone in his eyes. He dropped onto the counter a large pouch, which jiggled with the distinct sounds of coins inside. "Here is your money. Forty golden dragons and not one more, jeweller," he gruffly declared.

Greed flickered for a brief moment in old Jeod's eyes, but he quickly took the money and handed them the hairpins. "Here ye go, m'lord. I'm sure i' will look quite good on yer dashing locks." Loras' eye twitched and Desmera laughed at the old man's sheer cheek even as Margaery pulled them away.

"You'd better appreciate this, sister," he grumbled, but there was no heat or sting to his words as he stepped forward and brushed Margaery's lustrous hair aside, placing one of the hairpins on it. The sunlight glinted off its surface and Margaery beamed.

"Thank you, brother. I didn't expect that! How does it look?" she asked, twirling around.

"It looks beautiful on you, Margaery," Desmera said, a sentiment echoed by Ceryse. It was no lie, either; the hairpin only accentuated her cousin's natural beauty.

For a moment, Desmera felt a flare of jealousy towards her. While her own body might be a bit more curvaceous, she felt akin to an ugly duckling, freckled and awkward, when compared to the beautiful and graceful white fawn that was Margaery Tyrell.

As soon as the thought came to her however, the redhead felt terrible for it. 'What am I thinking, that was so cruel of me!' Margaery was her cousin and she loved her, she was a wonderful girl and such vile thoughts shamed her. How could she begrudge something the Seven had freely given Margaery?

Mother would be ashamed of her if she knew.

Unaware of Desmera's gloomy thoughts, Loras stepped towards her. Looking up, she noticed he held the other half of the matching pair of hairpins, and Desmera eyed him quizzically. He held a vague air of chagrin about him as he stepped closer.

"Cousin- Desmera, I feel I must make amends. I know I was… grievously unkind and boorish towards you before, and it was never my intention to dismiss your words. I know I apologized before, but let this gift be a better attempt at fixing my mistake."

Stunned, Desmera could only manage a tiny nod of acquiescence before Loras carefully placed the rose hairpin on her hair, just like he'd done for Margaery. "There. It looks marvellous on you if I say so myself, my lady."

Desmera had a hard time to keep herself from blushing. The smile on his face was kind and she could hear no falsehood in his words. "Thank you, Ser Loras. This is… a most gracious and unexpected gift," she said, feeling unusually nervous.

"'Twas only fitting, seeing as your family is hosting us. You look almost as beautiful as Margaery does with it."

Instead of feeling insulted, the backhanded compliment was so brazen Desmera couldn't help but let out a startled, amused laugh. "Almost?"

Loras was unapologetic, giving her a charming grin. "She is my sister, after all. I can't afford to be impartial or I will never hear the end of it. But let that not detract from your own beauty, cousin – you wear it well."

Many had given her such compliments before, but few outside of her close circle had been so earnest. Now Loras struck the very image of chivalry to Desmera – a far cry from the bratty, condescending dolt he'd been earlier. 'Mayhaps I judged him too harshly.'

"I concur! Desmera, the hairpin looks lovely on you!" Margaery said, approaching her to inspect the hairpin on her cousin's hair with a grin before her voice shifted to a haughty tone that was nothing but teasing. "It would seem my brother can choose his gifts well. A shame he doesn't always extend such generosity to his immediate family…"

"That was only one time! I forgot just the once and you've never let me hear the end of it! And I don't think you can speak, sister – I just gave you an excellent gift!"

"Hm, I suppose you did. Well, I can be appeased… this time."

Desmera snickered. It was obvious that the siblings loved each other dearly, despite the needling. But then a thought struck her, and she turned to her friend.

"Wait, what about you, Ceryse?" There were only two hairpins and by gifting them to family, Loras had left out the Rhysling girl.

"It's okay, Desmera, I do not mind. Don't trouble yourself for me."

"My lady, forgive me. I did not think… I will make this right, I swear," Loras said with a grave look.

"Truly, my lord, it's nothing. Do not worry about it." Ceryse laughed, waving it off. "Come! There's a small garden not far from here, and the peaches there are to die for. Desmera always takes me there when I come to visit from Ryamsport. We'll show you!"

She began to lead them away from the square, but Desmera wasn't quite alright with how things ended. 'She deserves beautiful things, too,' she thought. She wouldn't be surprised if Ceryse was just putting on a jovial and unaffected demeanour to avoid an awkward situation, regardless of how she really felt.

Ceryse had been a friend of hers since they were both young, and she'd always been like that, for as long as Desmera had a memory. The Rhyslings lived in Ryamsport and controlled the surrounding lands south of Ivyhall castle and the Red Spires; Lord Jon Rhysling and her own lord father had been friends for decades, and it wasn't strange for at least one Rhysling or one of their bannermen to be present at Ivyhall, given their proximity between them.

More often than not, that was Ceryse.

'I will buy something for her later. Something beautiful and elegant, that's a given. Mayhaps a necklace?' Desmera gave her friend a critical look: Ceryse was tall and willowy, and Desmera was sure a necklace made out of Jeod's best pearls and rose quartzes would bring out her beauty. 'Or perhaps some earrings?' The black of an onyx gemstone and a silver frame would look great with Ceryse's blonde hair too. 'Need to think carefully about this, I want her to have a great gift just like I did.'

Desmera pondered on the matter while they led her Tyrell cousins through twisting roads, nodding to the people passing by as they bowed and saluted. They crossed through a street that bordered the Sunset Sea. The pleasant aroma of warm bread and fresh fruit hung in the air.

"This is the Street of Food. Not a very creative name, but it works. Most taverns and food merchants have their stores and stalls here. It's close to the harbour, so the food won't spoil," Desmera explained.

"Is it normal for it to have so many urchins?" Loras asked, eyeing them bemusedly.

He wasn't wrong, there were more than a few young boys and girls milling about; an air of resigned sadness hung over them like a heavy cloak. The sight was a jarring contrast to the four's cheerful meandering through town.

"There have been several fierce storms in open sea lately. More than one fisher has lost his haul to them, but many of them rely on those same hauls to feed their families, so you can understand why the children look like that," Desmera explained. A troubled frown marred her face. "And that's if the storms don't take the sailors' lives as well. I know my father is looking for a solution, but I don't think there's an easy one. Our own food stores aren't infinite."

Looking at the children, Margaery straightened. "I think I know what to do with my money now, brother," she told Loras, striding towards the first bakery she saw.

"You wish to eat something now? I'm not hungry."

"It's not for you, dummy, or for me, either. Come on." Shrugging, Desmera decided to wait with Ceryse while Loras followed his sister inside the bakery. It wasn't long until the siblings returned, carrying each two baskets filled to the brim with pastries and bread.

Before either of them could say anything, Margaery spoke. "Children, come gather 'round! I have food for anyone hungry!" The words seemed like a beacon for every child in the vicinity, who swarmed them with wide eyes, full of disbelief and hopeful happiness.

"This is what you planned to use your money on?" an annoyed Loras grumbled, but even he started to pass the food to the children alongside his sister.

Margaery just laughed it off. She was all smiles to anyone who glanced her way. Desmera hadn't even considered this being what Margaery planned to do, but she and Ceryse soon joined the Tyrells in passing the food around.

'Her eyes are filled with delight,' Desmera noticed, watching as she offered a large loaf of bread to a girl no older than ten with an encouraging smile.

"Go on, take it, sweetie! It's a gift from me, see?"

"Ma and Da told me to not take gifts from strangers," the girl said, but there was no hiding the longing and hunger in her eyes, fixated on the bread in Margaery's hand.

"Well, I'd say your mother and father have plenty of common sense, but we can fix not knowing each other, don't you think? My name is Margaery, what's yours?"

"Millie."

"See? Now we know each other. Would you accept this bread from me, Millie?"

For a moment, Millie hesitated, giving both the bread and Margaery herself a look of uncertainty. The Tyrell noble only smiled kindly, which grew wider when the little girl finally reached out for the bread.

"I have something else for you, Millie. But don't tell your parents about this, okay? It'll be our little secret," Margaery told her, taking a pastry from her other basket and offering it to Millie. This time, the peasant girl was bolder and took the sweet. Her eyes widened from the flavour when she took a bite out of it. "Enjoy it."

Yet, Millie wasn't the only one; Margaery gave a few kind words to every child who took a piece of food from her, joking and pinching cheeks without ever appearing tired or frazzled by all the enthusiastic buzzing around her. The children were now laughing and cheering, eating the pastries and the bread.

"Don't eat it all, okay? Because I need you all to do something very important for me – think you can do it?" she asked the children, crouching down so they were at the same level. They all gave enthusiastic nods. "Good! I need you to make sure you bring some of that bread to your families. They need to eat too!"

One of the boys hugged her. Loras twitched minutely, hand almost flying to the hilt of his sword before he stilled. Margaery only laughed, ruffling the boy's hair and hugging him back before she addressed the children one last time. "Now go, enjoy your day!"

They started to disperse, thanking Margaery with high-pitched voices before scampering away. It wasn't until most of them had left that Desmera noticed a few of the villagers had been watching. They looked moved and many nodded at them, though only a handful approached to give their thanks in person, eyes full of gratitude.

"I didn't realize this is what you had in mind when you went into that bakery," Desmera told her when they were alone again some time later.

"I hope it wasn't too much. When I saw the children, and you told us about the food shortages, I just couldn't sit back and do nothing," her cousin admitted. "I had the money, why not use it to give them a respite, however brief? It feels good to know I've put a smile on their faces."

"I dare say many families will give thanks to Lady Margaery today," Ceryse said with a smile, which Margaery returned.

"That is kind of you to say, but let's hope your lord fathers can solve this problem soon. If not, I am sure father would freely offer help for one of our most prominent vassals," Margaery mused with affected casualness. "Well, shall we? We still have to see this famous garden of yours."

Margaery's act of kindness eased part of the issue, but it would be for nothing if the underlying problem didn't abate. She knew her father and Lord Rhysling had been considering the option of feeding the smallfolk, but their own stores of food and grain weren't limitless. It wasn't something that could be sustained long-term.

'Though her remark about asking the Tyrells for help might have some merit…'

Whatever they decided to do, Desmera just hoped her father and Lord Rhysling could come up with a good plan to ensure their people didn't die of starvation.

Soon after resuming their journey, they arrived at a separate street, taking a flight of weathered gray steps into a garden with benches and a small fountain placed in the middle. Small sculptures of fishes rose from its central plinth, flanking the statue of a beautiful mermaid holding a lyre in her hands. Streams of water spewed forth from the fishes' mouths onto the pool below, and the sound of the burbling water wove itself around the song of twittering birds, trilling with sweet notes.

Big peach trees grew around the garden, offering plenty of shade for the few people milling about. The trees were blooming with fruit and large peaches hung from the branches, low enough to reach out for them if one so wished. Just by looking at her, Desmera could tell Margaery was immediately taken with the small slice of tranquillity and quiet, somewhat hidden within the town as it was.

Desmera led them in their exploration, pointing out the different types of flowers under the trees that dotted the green areas surrounding the paths meant for visitors. There were many, ranging from roses to azaleas, lavender, violets, and even some snapdragons.

"Highgarden has many gardens like these, and even entire fields of golden roses that stretch as far as the eye can see! But you know, cousin, I think I quite like this garden too – perfect for thinking and reading," Margaery said.

"I'm sure the townsfolk would appreciate your compliments. It is them who took the seeds we gave them and made sure to grow them into what you see now. They're very proud of it. The ground is a bit uneven due to the town's location, but there's nothing they could do about that."

"Well, they no doubt earned their praise. How are the peaches? Lady Ceryse certainly swore by them earlier."

"Feel free to find out for yourself."

Examining the fruit with a critical eye, Desmera reached out to one nearby. She prodded at it and squeezed gently, testing it before plucking it out and passing it to her cousin. She did the same for Loras and Ceryse just as Margaery took a bite from her peach.

"It's really good! Very sweet and juicy," she told her brother, who tried his own and immediately agreed. Desmera, who had grown up around sailors and their coarse language, had to stifle her laughter at the unintended double entendre her words could have. Next to her, Ceryse happily bit into her own peach.

"Yes, they're really sweet. Herryk, our maester, believes it has to do with the richness of the Arbor's soil," Desmera explained.

"We have some in Ryamsport as well and they're almost as good as these," Ceryse added, enjoying the fruit.

"Interesting. The ones from Highgarden and the surrounding fields aren't as big or sweet."

"Our home has many fields and plenty of other fruit in them, though," Loras remarked, as though defending the honour of Highgarden over fruit was a matter of great need.

Margaery hummed thoughtfully. "Highgarden is truly one of the greatest wonders of Westeros… but there is something to be said for quality, rather than quantity." And after offering that profound observation, she took another bite of her fruit. "Take one for yourself, Desmera! It's only fair, since you showed us this wonderful place."

She did not need to be told twice. Desmera reached out to pluck another from the tree, but she didn't get a good grip on it and the peach slipped from her fingers. With a startled gasp, she watched as it fell and rolled away due to the uneven ground.

The fruit tumbled and rolled until it bumped against the boot of a visitor, who was dozing off on one of the benches nearby. Startled, he looked down at it before he picked it up and dusted it off.

"I believe this is yours?" he said, standing up.

"Ah, thank you very much," Desmera said. As she approached, she got a good look at him. He looked as young as he sounded. He was tall, with windswept black hair which was mussed, akin to a crow's nest, and he sported some stubble over his chin and cheeks.

He handed her the fruit. "Oh, it's no trouble. Happy to help, really."

'His voice is kind,' Desmera thought, 'but he seems a rather strange fellow.'

His clothes were of high quality and they fit his slender build well. They most likely marked him as being highborn, but they were unlike anything she'd seen before, and Desmera struggled to find the right words to describe their queerness. Moreover, he wore a strange contraption over his eyes, two glass lenses mounted on some sort of frame which rested upon his nose. Glass was a Myrish luxury few outside very wealthy merchants and Lords could afford.

'Is he a Lord's son? It can't be, I'd have heard of it. Father would've hosted him in Ivyhall!'

"Of course. Are you visiting Vinetown by chance? I fear I do not recognize you as one of the smallfolk living here." Unsaid went the fact that if he really lived in Vinetown, he'd have recognized his lord's daughter at a mere glance.

The stranger nodded easily. "Oh, yes, I suppose you could call it that. I'm taking a bit of a rest before setting out again. This town is-"

As he spoke, his words faded into background noise while Desmera inspected him. His eyes were green – the colour of bright emeralds, like the Lannisters were reputed to have. Were it not for the fact it was simply impossible due to the age, his green eyes and jet black hair could very well have made him pass as a child of King Robert and Queen-

Desmera's train of thought halted the moment she noticed the bizarre scar on the right side of the man's forehead. It was thin, whitish and faded, but it could still be seen, shaped akin to a lightning bolt. She grew horrified at this – such a scar would never form on accident, and from the look of it was an old one. Who could be so cruel to maim and cripple someone at such a young age?!

But her horror soon froze in her veins before she could say anything. It was replaced by shock as a terrible realization crystallized in her mind. The peach fell from her slackened hand to the ground, forgotten. Bemused, the young man bent down to pick it up once again, but Desmera didn't pay attention. The words Herryk had given her and her brothers little more than a fortnight resurfaced to the forefront of her mind, unbidden as they echoed in her head over and over like a mocking taunt.

'He was tall, slight of build and possessing jet black hair… His eyes were green as emeralds, glowing like torches, and another said he had a strange scar on his forehead… He also apparently wore a strange type of cloak.'

The smile on the man's face wilted and froze, mirroring the alarm on her own. "Uh oh."

He bolted off just as Desmera began shouting. "GUARDS! GUARDS!"

She quickly took off after him, but the dress constricted her movements. Without thinking at all, Desmera reached down and ripped the hem on each side to create two side cuts, giving her more freedom to run. 'Better,' she thought as she bounded after his scurrying form.

They barrelled down the steps that led to the town road. Desmera almost crowed when the fleeing stranger ran into a pair of guards, who had just appeared at the bottom of the stairs from the road outside in answer to Desmera's yelling. Unfortunately, they were caught off guard when he dashed past them. Encumbered by their armour, the guards staggered aside; unlike them, the stranger wore only cloth and he wasted no time to shoot off.

Hearing his hurried footsteps moving away, Desmera cursed as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She stopped for a moment next to the guards as they regained their balance.

"M'lady, what-?"

"That man is wanted by my father! Lock down the entire town!" she ordered. "Tall, green eyes, strange clothes and glass lenses on his face!" she quickly listed off, before she took off in pursuit once more. She couldn't waste any time, she hoped they'd gotten all the details straight.

Desmera could still see him, but he'd put quite a bit of distance between them.

"Desmera!" Loras' voice suddenly broke through the fog of her determination, and she saw him running abreast with her, easily keeping her pace. "You took off as though the Stranger were after you! Who is that man?!"

"Father wants him for questioning! Ironborn raids! We must catch him!" she said. She couldn't give him a detailed explanation, but it would have to suffice.

"You must go back and wait with Margaery and Lady Ceryse, Desmera! Let me and the guards deal with this!"

"Piss on that!" she exclaimed. Loras, annoyingly much more at ease running at such breakneck speed, stumbled and fell behind for a moment with a flabbergasted grunt. "I know where he's going! We'll cut him off!"

Loras' shock over her unladylike behaviour didn't last long and he quickly returned to her side, keeping up with her as they ran through Vinetown's streets in pursuit of the fugitive.

Desmera led him through back alleys and secondary stairs, cutting through most of the main streets. They were paths only someone who had lived all their life in Vinetown or frequented it regularly would know. As they ran, warning horns blared all around them, near and loud, and they could hear shouts and cries in the distance as the town was swiftly plunged into chaos.

"Where are we going?!"

"Stables, outside town!"

Grabbing a horse was the only option the stranger had to slip past them – a boat or a ship would take too long to leave port, and it'd be quite easy to board it and restrain him. 'But if I'm right, and he's the man father wanted, would that really stop him?' Desmera didn't have an answer for that question. She could only pray for a lucky break.

They rushed into the main street just in time to see the runaway fly past them, running in the opposite direction of fleeing smallfolk. A few guards appeared from the bend of the path, right where the man had come from.

"After him!" she shouted as they joined her and Loras.

The chase was on.

Though she put on a brave face, Desmera was tiring. She felt a burn in her lungs building up and her legs ached. Worse, her feet were killing her! She'd taken simple dainty shoes to accompany her cousins into town, she hadn't thought she'd end up rushing all over the place!

Desmera had never run like this before, as if the Stranger hounded her steps and she had to flee to keep him from dragging her down to the Seven Hells. She was breathing loudly and even Loras, who was faring better than her, had his forehead slick with sweat.

A part of her regretted going after him. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, but now she felt foolish. She feared she'd drop to the ground at any moment, but she couldn't let up now. She would make her father proud.

'We're so close, I can't give up now!'

"Surrender, there's no escape!" she ordered the fleeing man, but there was no reaction from him and he kept running. They were nearing Vinetown's lower level, from which the eastern and western roads trailed away from the town. If he managed to get onto a horse and slip away…

'No! He will not get away!' They would catch him and haul him to Ivyhall so her father could question him! They-

"He broke to the right!" Loras suddenly shouted, rushing headfirst like a raging auroch into the road that led to the harbour.

"I saw it too! After him!" one of the guards exclaimed as they all broke away from her.

"What are you doing, fools?! He's right there!" Desmera shouted at them, stopping for a moment, but her words went unheeded. Turning to look at the stranger, she saw him pocketing something into his clothes, too fast for her to catch what it was.

Their eyes met and even from a distance, Desmera could see the surprise written on his face. It made no sense to her why, but she didn't question it. There was no time. "Get over here!"

With a curse, he raced away and Desmera set off after him once more.

He was fast, very fast, and she was flagging already. The small respite hadn't been enough for her to catch her breath, and Desmera raged as she realized she was being left behind, slowly but surely.

"Stop right there, you criminal scum!" someone shouted ahead of them.

For a moment, hope bloomed in her chest as a squadron of guards appeared from the other side of the road, but the stranger didn't halt, choosing to rush them head-on instead. The guards unsheathed their words, ready to use force if necessary.

Then, the strangest thing happened.

If anyone ever asked her, Desmera would swear the runaway did some strange gesture with his hand. One moment, the guards were ready to capture or cut him down; the next, their swords flew through the air in all directions, as if plucked from their hands by the Warrior himself.

The shock from their unexpected disarmament allowed the stranger to slip past, but Desmera wasn't deterred and followed him doggedly. They were reaching the lower level now. Only a small bend and twist in the road would see them reach it.

'Can't let him get to the horses. Pick up the pace!' Gasping, she put on a burst of speed to her legs, pushing herself to the absolute limit even though her whole body ached and burned. She was rewarded for her efforts in cutting much of his lead. She was getting close! 'Just a bit more!'

But instead of doing as she expected and going for the stables, the man scurried away into a side-alley not too far away from their destination, slipping back into the bowels of Vinetown. Cursing loudly, Desmera followed him. She heard a soft popping sound just as she reached the corner, and when she rushed into the side-alley, she stumbled, eyes widening from the shock.

There was no one there at all.

"No- it can't- it can't be!" she cried out, red-faced and heaving. This was impossible, she'd been just behind him! The alley wasn't short enough for him to slip away and hide before she reached it. Worse, it was a dead end! Spent and breathing heavily, Desmera inspected the alley for signs of the stranger, but her eyes didn't deceive her. The street was completely devoid of life aside from herself. "What manner of foul sorcery is this?!"

She heard the thundering sound of heavy boots rushing to her position, rising steadily above the drilling blare of the warning horns. The platoon of guards from moments ago reached her position.

"My lady, what happened?" asked one of them.

"There's a man wanted by my father in Vinetown. The fugitive managed to slip away, but he must still be inside! Keep searching, don't leave a stone unturned!"

"Understood!"

The guards spread out once more, shouting orders to each other and racing to continue the search. However, something in Desmera told her it was pointless, that no matter how hard they tried, they would find nothing. Looking over the deserted alley, Desmera clenched her fists. The weight of her failure was a bitter sting.

She'd kicked off such a huge fuss all over town with nothing to show for it in the end.

Somehow, the Seafarer had escaped their grasp.